


And Some Propofol in an IV

by wolfern



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Did I Mention Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Minor Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:27:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28474665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfern/pseuds/wolfern
Summary: Recovering in hospital had become somewhat of a Christmas tradition. At least he had Tom to goof off with. Written for the SpyFest fic exchange, Dec 2020
Comments: 6
Kudos: 21
Collections: Spyfest: Alex Rider Holiday Fic Exchange (December 2020)





	And Some Propofol in an IV

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TundrainAfrica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TundrainAfrica/gifts).



> Prompt: Tom goofing off with Alex injured in the hospital  
> Song to listen to: Twelve Days of Christmas

“Do you have even _any_ remorse at all for what you’ve done?” Mrs Jones’ eyes were as icy as the sleet outside the window. Blunt hadn’t even deigned to appear for this dressing-down. “Untold damage – _countless_ employees called in on the holiday – not to mention the complaints from the neighbouring buildings.”

Alex, his arm in a sling and ribs tightly bandaged, could only just manage to keep the grin from reaching his face. “Complaints? They’ve no sense of humour. We were bringing joy to one and all – and besides, you can’t tell me you don’t enjoy the work.”

“…That’s as may be. But that doesn’t mean we can allow you to go without some sort of caution. We can’t have other agents thinking they should follow in your footsteps.”

“They would never. None of ‘em have a sense of humour. Except Ben. But only if Eagle made him.”

“Alex – I get the feeling you don’t understand the magnitude of what you caused –”

“Of course I do; happiness is the greatest feeling in the world –”

“Do you want me to _list everything_?”

A shrug. “Knock yourself out.”

>>( )<<

_Twelve plumbers plumbing…_

Alex wasn’t sleeping, not really, when the half-eaten orange landed on his chest. His eyes, previously closed, opened, as he sat up, startled. But he hadn’t been sleeping.

“What’s this?” Did he really need to ask, with Tom grinning portentously down at him? Surely even the Cheshire cat hadn’t been this foreboding.

“An orange.”

“Yes. I can see that. Why is it half-eaten, and why have you thrown it on me?” As Alex shifted his weight a little, the demi-globe slid sadly off the crisp hospital-grade sheets, and fell, with a plop, to the white hospital floor. It said something about life, Alex thought, but his mind was too tired to figure out what.

“Well, I was hungry, and you were asleep.”

As he couldn’t exactly argue, Alex chose to roll his eyes.

“Anyway, Alex, what’s your problem, getting admitted to hospital and all on Christmas? What about the movie marathon, what about the Christmas crackers?!”

“It’s not my fault.”

“Oh, _sure_ , it’s not _your_ fault that MI6 hired you again and that everything went FUBAR _again_ and some evil megalomaniac wanted to make you mincemeat _again_ , _literally,_ and that you only escaped by the skin of your teeth – teeth don’t even have skin…”

“Yeah, it’s not my fault.”

“Yeah – wait –”

“Why are you here, Tom?”

“So! Uh, anyway, as it is the holiday season, I’ve decided to forgive you.”

“…Thanks?”

“You’re welcome. But in return, I expect you to entertain me.”

“No, thanks.”

Two strong wills, occasionally harmonised, now locked in an impasse, like the two rings of a wire puzzle.

“Fine. How do you want to be entertained, Tom? I guess I don’t have to say I’m pretty _tied up_ at the moment?”

“That was a terrible pun. Puny, as it were.”

Much as it hurt to move at all, Alex couldn’t stop his sigh.

“I’m _bored_ , Alex _._ ”

“Yes, I get that. What do you want me to do about it?”

If Tom’s eyebrows could have converged any more as they furrowed in thought, they would have created paradox, existing in the same space and time. It was lucky an idea hit him, or Alex might have died a much undignified death of nuclear fusion by way of eyebrow. Then again, maybe such would be preferable.

“Alex, me old mate, let’s go on an adventure.”

“No, thanks,” Alex found himself saying again.

“Aw, why not?”

“I can think of many reasons. The least of which being my current state of injury.”

“Oh, boo hoo.” Tom picked up Alex’s chart at the end of the bed. “Says here ‘early mobilisation’. Pretty sure that means _moving about_.”

“Pretty sure it says ‘mobilise when able’.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Does.”

“Nope.”

Alex scowled. Then, against better judgement and the protests from his recovering body, he lunged at Tom, who held the chart above his head and jumped back. “Hey! Well, seems like you’re able anyway.”

“Shut up.” Trying not to jostle his ribs and shoulder, and, well, everything, Alex climbed out of bed. “Just let me get dressed.”

“Sure thing.” Whistling jauntily, Tom turned his back.

It being the first of December, St Dominic’s had yet to fall to the yuletide fever that plagued the rest of London, England, and possibly much of the world. The walls were a calming pale blue, adorned with large canvases of abstract art donated by – Alex presumed – thankful dignitaries. Maybe this was where they put the art repossessed from megalomaniacs taken down by British agents – remarkably tasteful and inoffensive megalomaniacs.

“The walls are too bare,” bemoaned Tom, gesturing wildly at the aforementioned adorned walls.

Alex wondered if there was a form of colour-blindness that made all colours seem grey; or possibly a mental illness like the opposite of a hallucination, where one couldn’t see what was plainly before them.

“There needs to be _more!_ ”

“Er, Tom, this is a hospital, you know, not a disco.”

“And yet.” Tom’s eyes shone like disco balls at said discotheque. He clapped his hands twice. “Bring me to the Christmas cupboard!”

“What Christmas cupboard?”

“There is always a Christmas cupboard.”

“What for?”

“For eggs that need nogging, mistle and toes, and jingle with its bells, of course.”

“…Christmas decorations?”

“Yes! This Christmas, it is our civic duty to bring cheer to this horribly drab hospital! Mental health is clearly linked to physical health and –”

“No, thanks.” But he was tired and he hurt all over and his quiet objection was futile in the face of Tom’s enthusiasm.

“Onwards!”

Tom was right of course. Just as a miniature black hole exists in every man-made dwelling, the portal through which keys, half-pairs of socks, and pens disappear (presumably to some strange realm where these items represent a major part of the economy), so too does there exist a transient yuletide space that appears for the sole purpose of providing the ornaments and holiday tchotchkes one had mostly forgotten. It was some sort of festive magic that meant this cupboard evaded every deep clean and inspection of the St Dominic’s. And Tom had an Advent sense.

If there were more Toms in the world, the earth could have been lit infinitely by their eyes, bedazzled with tinsel. Greenland could have been heated by the warmth of all citizens beholding Tom’s joy.

“Alex, help me make this hospital _fabulous!_ ”

>>( )<<

“Well, you can’t deny the hospital looked way more cheerful with the tinsel.”

“It was _everywhere._ I don’t even want to know how you found so much tinsel to fill all the rooms and hallways. And not to mention how you _gained access_ to all the rooms.”

“Tom’s magic.”

“Pipes weren’t made to handle tinsel.”

“…I guess we went overboard there. But the hospital bathrooms are _so depressing._ And the tinsel was the worst of it, right?”

“No.”

“Fine. What’s next?”

>>( )<<

_Eleven snipers sniping…_

“We should put on a puppet show.”

“What?”

“Puppets!” Tom gesticulated wildly as though, by vigour, he could make them appear.

“Why?”

“Do you really want to go through all the five Ws and one H?” He rolled his eyes. “It’s Christmas. We need a Christmas pantomime. I don’t know about you, but I don’t exactly know any famous actors I can call up and go, ‘Hey mate, want to put on a pantomime in a very secret hospital? We’ll have to blindfold you to get you there.’”

“Puppets, though? Is a show really necessary? Who’s the audience?”

Tom was solemn. “The children of London.”

Despite Alex’s growing cheer, he felt another pang of foreboding.

“Look, it’ll be like the Harrods Christmas window displays.”

“We don’t have any figurines.”

“That’s why it’ll be puppets! I’ve cut them out already, and everything.” With the motors and wiring, the giant cardboard cut-outs were strangely terrifying. “They’ll be silhouetted so it’s okay.”

“How long have you worked on this?”

Even as hyperactive as he was, Tom paused. “I started when I was in hospital after I got that bullet.”

Alex sighed. “Fine.”

>>( )<<

“I had to say yes! And besides, how were we to know someone would spot the movement and think they were terrorists? The puppets were clearly samurai and aliens.”

“And you didn’t think that would be alarming?”

“Well – eleven snipers was excessive, still.”

“You filled all the windows; the decision was made that a coordinated take-down was necessary to minimise fallout.”

“And you didn’t learn from Blunt’s mistake sending the sniper after me? That’s the whole reason Tom even made the puppets in the first place – when he was recovering from the bullet wound that _your sniper_ gave him!”

“I was no part of that plot.”

“Sure.”

She sniffed. “Thankfully, this time the snipers used tranquilisers rather than bullets. It was quite a difficult action, actually. Smithers had quite a field day adjusting the non-lethal tranqs to penetrate St Dominic’s ammunition-proof windows.”

“Remind me to send him a Christmas card.”

“I’m sure he’s listening and appreciates the sentiment.”

“Oh yeah – hi, Smithers! Sorry about the trouble!”

From a hidden speaker, Smithers’ disembodied voice: “That’s alright, my dear boy. I enjoyed the challenge. It provided a welcome distraction from the Christmas shopping.”

“Cheers.”

Tinny Christmas music began to play in the small office.

Jones, who had been silent, spoke again. “I’m not quite finished yet, Alex. That reminds me: the director of St Dominic’s called to complain…”

>>( )<<

_Ten wards a-woken..._

“Hm, it’s still boring here, don’t you think?”

“We’ve got puppets and tinsel – what more do you need?”

“Well, it’s all very visual, isn’t it? Mr Keating always says to use all the senses for a vibrant scene.”

“What do you want, then?”

Tom was the quintessential creative as he stood, leg cocked, head tilted, rubbing his chin musingly. Then, as an idea came to him, he straightened, snapped his fingers, and all but shouted _Eureka!_ “Let there be music!” he cried.

“Er, I don’t think that’s how it goes…”

“ _Shush._ ”

To bring Tom’s melodious dream to reality, they first had to set off the fire alarm. Well, they didn’t have to, but it was the fastest way to track and take over the signals for the hospital tannoy system. Alex’s most recent mission had included tracing infrasonic broadcasts that had been affecting the brain functions of diplomats in a South American country. Like always, he’d kept Smithers’ gadgets, this time an app on his phone that he used as a network mapper and controller.

It took five seconds for the fire alarm, not enough time for the fire department to be called, nor for the sprinkler system to start. “I don’t think that’s what they mean by ‘Christmas bells are ringing’,” said Tom when they’d shut the alarm off.

“It worked, didn’t it? Here’s your sound system. The most surround sound you’ll ever get to control, Tom.”

>>( )<<

“It was noon! Anyone who wasn’t awake should have been by that time, anyway.”

“Ten entire wards, all with the fire alarm, and then Christmas music.”

“Fire alarms go off all the time – even St Dominic’s has to do drills. And did I mention _it was noon_?”

“The Director received complaints –”

“From some celebrity?”

“Even so –”

“I’m sure he receives complaints every time they have a fire drill.”

“– but this was at _Christmas_!”

“Fires don’t consider that. And that’s why we played the Christmas music!”

“So, what? You were performing a public service?”

“I was trying to help my friend cheer the place up. So we had to set the alarm off for a few seconds. I made sure the music didn’t override the alarms, and we stopped the fire department coming. What was the harm?”

“Well – that’s not nearly the end of it, Alex.”

>>( )<<

_Nine Mercedes prancing…_

“Decorations, a show, music, what else do we have on Christmas, Alex?”

“Um, presents?”

“You materialist, you. But you’re right, I suppose. I hadn’t thought of gifts.”

“Christmas with no presents?! How _could you?_ ” It took all of Alex’s acting skills to pull off his mournful look.

“Oh, shut up. We have to go back to your room, I think.”

“What for?”

“For the presents! Weren’t you listening?”

Utterly bemused, Alex followed Tom back to his hospital room. He had to admit, there was less drear in the air now, and he thought even Wolf might have felt something, if he’d been in hospital there.

On the way, Tom conjured baubles from his pockets, and hung them sporadically on railing, light fixtures, and door handles. He even managed to find a sprig of mistletoe, which he hung above the nurses’ station in Alex’s ward.

_“We wish you a merry Christmas, we wish you a merry Christmas…”_

The orange was still on the floor of Alex’s room, but now Alex decided it looked happy to be there. Its bright colour beamed at Alex as he moved it into the bin. “So how are we doing this?” he asked.

“Leave it to me.”

>>( )<<

“Tom’s very resourceful,” Alex defended.

“I can see that. Nine delivery companies – _nine_. Delivering presents without payment. Did you even stop to consider the security risk?”

“We didn’t order that many presents. And besides, you guys have to examine all the hospital equipment that’s delivered all the time. Surely there’s much more of that than a few presents.”

“Nine vans.”

“Hospital waste is massive.”

“What did you even do with the presents?”

“Gave them to the patients and the staff.”

Mrs Jones sighed.

>>( )<<

_Eight grenades gilding…_

As they watched the Mercedes delivery vans arriving at the hospital and coordinating the maze of security, Tom frowned. “It’s still not bright enough.”

Alex coughed, and then regretted it as his ribs protested. Resigned, he wondered if Tom was possibly blind. Or maybe it was just the Christmas tunnel vision. Tom would make an excellent villain – once he decided on something, he’d never stop. Even with a teenage spy trying to take him down – he’d just recruit him.

“Say, Alex… You’ve still got those propaganda grenades from Smithers, right?”

Tom and Smithers. Working together, they’d have untold power. Alex couldn’t keep back the shudder. “Yes,” he said cautiously, “why?”

“You can make them paint _anything you like_ , right?”

“Right.”

“ _What about gold?_ ”

“Gold what?”

“ _Just gold everything.”_

Oh no.

>>( )<<

“Smithers’ paint is permanent.”

Alex winced. “Nothing is permanent.”

“As permanent as irradiation, then.”

“Everything’s radioactive, to a degree.”

“Comparable to Chernobyl.”

If Alex could wince further, he would. As it was, his still-healing bruises were already protesting. “Makes the hospital less boring? I, for one, would _love_ to go to a golden hospital. It exudes a certain confidence… ”

“Alex. Would you really?”

He couldn’t answer that. “At least the next bit was harmless?”

>>( )<<

_Seven bonbons bursting…_

“Hey, some of the delivery companies said they’d throw in some free Christmas crackers because we ordered so much!”

“Cool!”

“Cool!”

>>( )<<

“While the staff certainly appreciated the bonbons, some of the guards reported they felt alarmed when they heard the cracks.”

“We reassured them when they came running –”

“The fact that they had to come running at all –”

“Well, we wanted to share a Christmas cracker with them, too.”

“And the jumpers?”

“It’s tradition!”

>>( )<<

_Six fleece a-flying…_

Tom was in his element. As cracked as the crackers they’d pulled with the nurses and guards and doctors, eyes shining like fairy lights. “You get a Christmas jumper, and you get a Christmas jumper, and you…”

“I want the one with the dinosaurs,” said Alex, now in too deep to stop.

“Okay, and you, and you, and you, and – wait, that’s it?” Tom’s voice broke.

“You only ordered a half-dozen.”

“They were expensive! I feel bad now, though.”

“Is that the last of the jumpers?” asked one guard, who looked almost like Wolf, only blonde and more Viking. His current puppy-dog eyes were different to Wolf, too.

Stymied, Tom opened and closed his mouth silently.

Alex couldn’t bear to watch. Would this be the end of Christmas?

But, no. Even the Grinch would have had a hard time stopping Tom.

“Every jumper is a Christmas jumper with enough tinsel!”

>>( )<<

“Christmas decorations are not part of the regulation uniform.”

“They looked good! And besides, without the decorations they were scaring the children!”

“What children?”

“Me. They were scaring me. Or did you forget I’m a child, too?”

Mrs Jones was just as easily guilt-tripped as Blunt, and much more visible about it. Alex almost felt bad, but then he remembered she still employed him. And if she was going to lecture him about a bit of fun had at Christmas, then he wouldn’t hold back against her.

>>( )<<

_Five cold wings…_

“Hey –”

“What?”

“Hey…”

“What?”

“Look outside!”

Alex threw down his last cards from the Christmas cracker. The guards he was playing against groaned at the royal flush. “What is it?”

Tom needn’t have answered. “It’s snowing!”

He wouldn’t have called himself sentimental, but there was something inherently right about snow at Christmas. It didn’t take much for him to follow Tom out into the cold.

Laughing, Tom tipped his head back and stuck out his tongue to catch the flakes.

The cold was soothing to Alex’s bruises, and the foggy white muffled the world around, as though St Dominic’s was a hidden pocket where the rest of the world couldn’t touch.

“Alex, you know what this means?”

“What?”

“Snow angels!”

Alex let Tom tug him to where the snow had fallen thickest. They lay on the ground, along with a few nurses, in a ring. Relinquishing all his worries about catching up on schoolwork, his next mission, Jack, he waved his arms and legs, creating the wings and robes of his snow angel.

“This is _perfect,_ ” said Tom, flapping madly.

>>( )<<

“It wasn’t perfect, though, was it? What happened next –”

“That was hardly our fault! We’re the ones who _saved_ Christmas, Mrs Jones.”

“I wouldn’t call it _saving_.”

“Hey, we stopped them blowing up the hospital or kidnapping some dignitary or who-knows-what.”

“The information department are still interviewing them.”

“Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“Yes. It is.” Mrs Jones’ face was impressively blank. Made sense, really, her profession and all. She’d never play Mrs Claus, that was for sure.

>>( )<<

_Four falling curs…_

Even at Christmas, Alex couldn’t turn off. It was how he was wired. While they made snow angels, his eyes caught at movement in the hospital windows. And it wasn’t the puppets. “Tom, I’ve gotta go do some stuff.”

Tom looked at him for a long time. “Keep safe,” he said eventually.

Alex re-entered the hospital. The staff were in the full holiday mood now, sustained by the music and the hampers they’d ordered. With the dulcet tones of Michael Buble and George Michael ringing around him, he made his way to the window in which he’d spotted the movement.

Some of the patients and the staff were walking around, but a few doors remained closed. At the top, the ward was empty and the door to the room Alex had seen the movement in was shut and – Alex checked carefully – locked. Ducking into a store cupboard, he grabbed a cheap stethoscope from one of the blood pressure machines. Quietly, he held the head to the door, and put the ear tips in.

 _“…secure. They won’t know what’s coming.”_ It was a female voice. _“We’ve got the weapons and the manpower.”_

While he listened, he used Smithers’ app to track any signals coming from the room. He hoped she was using a walkie-talkie or phone. There were a lot of signals – it was a hospital, after all, and it appeared there was a patient there with health monitors – but as usual, Smithers’ work came through. There were three others in the hospital: one a floor down, and two on the roof. Alex sent the data and a recording to Smithers. In the meantime, he had to do something.

The next thing he did was message Tom.

Then he went back to the store cupboard and grabbed a doorstop, which he wedged under the door. Having secured a little more time, he went to the next room and wheeled the bed out and in front of the room with the woman. Checking twice, he set the brakes so it wouldn’t move.

He went downstairs and did the same, tracking the signals with Smithers’ app. He marked the door with some micropore tape in the shape of a star.

Finally, he found the door to the roof and put a third bed in place, then went back down to join Tom. It was Christmas. He’d learnt his lesson from last time saving Paul Drevin: he was going to leave it to the professionals. His message to Tom had been to raise the alert quietly.

Someone had organised hot chocolate. As they sipped from the steaming plastic cups, Alex caught sight of four falling shadows. By now, the snow was deep enough the people would be injured, but not lethally. He guessed they’d panicked when the guards came in, and jumped. He wasn’t worried they’d get away – it was St Dominic’s, after all.

>>( )<<

“Anyway, how can you say it’s my fault?”

“It – it was your luck that brought them there. And without all your distractions they may have been caught earlier.”

How unfair.

>>( )<<

_Three henchmen…_

The people in the hospital weren’t working alone. Smithers worked some further magic with the data Alex had sent, and found three more connected signals. MI6 never slept, not even for the holidays, and agents were dispatched to bring in the rest of the party.

Alex was too busy wrapping up in a lurid green blanket and joining in with the carols to do more than a cursory reply of the follow-up message Smithers sent him.

_Thanks and Merry Christmas!_

>>( )<<

“Is that it, then?”

Mrs Jones heaved a sigh. “Just about. There was also the impromptu wedding –”

“Hey, the Christmas spirit affects everyone in different ways, and there was a Rabbi, and a nurse, and a guard, and the nurse was so impressed at how the guard handled the situation and she’d known her for years and always –”

“I get the picture, Alex.”

>>( )<<

_Two true loves…_

‘Nuff said.

>>( )<<

As for making his escape with Tom, they identified a guard about to go off shift – he would be discovered soon that way – and, removing their Christmas accoutrements, they crept up behind him. All it took was some propofol in an IV.


End file.
